Chapter 34 Hail to Thee, Blithe Spirit
Sherlock Holmes stood up, put his coat on and patted his pockets in yet another vain search for a pipe that had been missing since he woke on the moor. "It's Russell, without a doubt," he stated. "She must have been concerned enough about my prolonged absence that she came up to Ayrshire, and somehow made her way to the lake."
Snape opened the door. "Let us discuss your unruly intern after the briefing, Holmes. Come on!" He strode out into the corridor, Holmes and Hagrid after him. Then, he remembered the others in the laboratory, stuck his head within, and shouted, "Longbottom! Malfoy! You can finish the washing-up later, come to the briefing!"
Sherlock Holmes listened intently to the Headmaster's explanation of the procedures to be followed in the event of an attack by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The students had been given their posts; prefects and teachers were in charge of mustering their 'troops' and weapons were cached in several locations. Then, Albus Dumbledore began a long-winded exhortation of courage and responsibility, and Holmes' attention wavered. 'Russell'. She had somehow come to find him; why? Did she not trust him? In truth, he had caught Hell from her any number of times when he had been unavoidably detained and had missed meeting her at appointed times. 'She thinks that I am a poor planner, that I am not trustworthy' he had often thought to himself. 'She rails at me that had I thought everything through properly, I would not have been delayed.' Patiently, he had explained time and again that a consulting detective was often at the mercy of events as well as people. 'She expects me to be perfect.'
Indeed, Russell was obsessed with perfection. It made her perfectly suited to her Hebrew and Greek studies; she could split a hair sixteen ways, make a hundred angels dance on the head of a pin and argue him into the ground on the tiniest detail. It also made her completely trustworthy and thorough.
'This is the first time she's come in search of me. Why?' He couldn't understand it; surely she had enough to keep her busy at term's end, and afterwards, at the farm. 'Surely she couldn't know…' He straightened up, realised that the briefing was at an end, and filed out of the Great Hall with everyone else. He continued to walk out onto the green lawn in front of the castle's double doors, and found himself a bench under a large elm tree. He sat down and stretched his legs out.
'Stop being such an ass, man,' he scolded himself. 'Russell couldn't know about your, erm, dalliance with Miss McDiarmaidh. It is none of her business, in any case.' He looked up, distracted by a rustle in the wide green leaves above his head. 'Pock!'A green acorn dropped painfully on his head, and a fluffy-tailed grey squirrel chattered at him before disappearing into the branches.
Guilt rose up in him like an unwelcome wave of heart-burn, but even more painful. 'I have desired Russell for the longest time, I must not want her, but God help me, I do, more with each passing day. She has grown into the most beauteous, most challenging and most exciting female I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. She does not deserve a foul-tempered, decrepit old swot such as I. And yet, who could match her? Who is equal to her? Indeed, who could put up with her but me?'
'Very well, then, why did I knowingly, freely and enthusiastically embrace another woman, when it was Russell I wanted?' He smote his head with the heels of his hands; this was a fruitless argument. Indeed, it was the classic situation: a devil perched on one of his shoulders, an angel on the other, and between them, Sherlock Holmes feared he would go mad.
Angel: Russell is a child, Holmes! She is barely eighteen years old; she is thirty-nine years your junior. You could easily be her father. She has barely begun to make the world's acquaintance. When she reaches her majority, she will marry a man of her own age and you will never see her again. You cannot regain your lost youth in her. Do not embarrass yourself.
Devil: Russell is a beautiful woman. She is a ripe peach, dripping with sweetness, ready to be plucked. You know full well, Holmes, that during your trip to Palestine, when you shared a tent, she curled against your side, warm and soft, waiting for your touch. You have danced a few steps of the male-female dance with her, and she responded eagerly to your lead. Why would you not want her? You are not too old for the flesh!
Angel: Far be it from you, Holmes, to violate virgins and despoil maiden children! You must divest yourself of these unsavoury thoughts. You are Russell's teacher, mentor and surrogate father. Nothing else; all else is incest, it is heinous license. You should be ashamed of yourself for even considering her as the means to slake your lust!
Devil: Far be it from you, Holmes, to deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh! You are a gourmet; you have taught her how to understand and enjoy fine food. You are a lover of the arts; you have introduced her to music and dance and the best that the theatres and museums have to offer. Why would you, therefore, not introduce her to the reason men and women exist? You have considerable experience, and would surely accustom her in short order to the ecstasy of romance.
Abruptly, Holmes rose, his hands clapped to his ears. "Enough! Enough!" he cried. "Have done with your battle for my soul!" Rubeus Hagrid, passing by, looked at him strangely and approached him, a concerned look on his bearded face.
"Are yeh all right, Mr Holmes? I heard yeh talkin' to yerself; have yeh been seein' ghosts too?"
Holmes grimaced. "Thanks for your concern, Hagrid; I am quite well. I do engage in debate with myself now and then."
Hagrid looked at him, his beetle-black eyes round. "Now that's summat I never heard afore! But, Mr Holmes, if yeh debate with yerself – who wins?"
'Sometimes the simplest answers are the best', thought Holmes. "Come, Hagrid. Show me the place where you viewed your fair phantasm." Together, man and half-giant walked towards the lake, sparkling in the afternoon sun. In the deep waters of the middle of the lake, a pink tentacle waved, splashed about and then sank out of sight. Hagrid whistled, and Fang bounded to his side, tongue lolling in doggy delight.
They approached the water-lily garden. Large round green pads bobbed side by side, dotted with pink, yellow and white blossoms. A frog sang. "Over there, Mr Holmes," said Hagrid, indicating a large flat stone next to a tiny shingle beach. "The students likes to picnic there now an' then."
Fang trotted to the stone, sniffed all around it, thoroughly watered some nearby weeds, and then flopped down, front paws crossed. Holmes walked up to the stone and around it, and then climbed upon it. "Hagrid, there's a splendid view of the Castle's towers from here," he observed.
"Yes, indeed," Hagrid agreed. "'Twas right there, where ye're standin', Mr Holmes, that she was sittin' when I seen her. Come round this way, then, where I am, and ye'll have me view o'the rock."
Holmes climbed down and walked round to stand next to Hagrid. It might have been a trick of the light, or even a reflection from the lake, but for a moment he thought he saw 'something' on the rock. He blinked; it was gone. "Hagrid, did you see anything?"
"No, Mr Holmes, I was lookin' for Fang, sorry," the half-giant said. He stared at the rock. "There!' She's there, Mr Holmes, on the rock – where I seen her before! She's sayin' summat – I can't hear her!"
Holmes squinted his eyes – no, it was merely a reflection. He sighed. "Hagrid, it seems that your lovely spectre is yours alone. I cannot see her. Let us return to the castle."
Mary stowed the last of her belongings in her rucksack. She almost fled the pleasant site a while ago, when she was convinced she was hallucinating. Then, reality established itself firmly, and she finished her luncheon, then took off her shoes and stockings and waded in the chilly lake water just for a lark. She found a smooth round stone and sent it skipping briskly across the surface of the lake. Then, she skipped another – was that a fish that batted the stone off its course? She had never seen such a colour; it resembled a pink eel. Well, one never knew in Scotland.
She returned to the rock and put on her stockings and shoes. She took one last look around: no towers this time – but he was back, the huge man and the dog—and next to him – no, it could not be! "Holmes!" she shouted. "Holmes, don't you dare disappear!" But alas, he did, and big man, dog and detective were nowhere to be seen when she blinked. Mary shouldered her rucksack, picked up her walking-stick, consulted her map, and set off. "I am over-tired', she thought. 'I will return to the inn, have a bath and an early dinner and a good night's rest. Tomorrow is another day."
Holmes looked round at the great lawn that stretched down to the lake shore. It was empty; all of the students were within, preparing for the fight of their lives. He opened one of the great double doors and entered the Castle. Unbidden, a verse came to him:
"Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be;
The last of life, for which the first was made…"
A wry smile touched the lips of the Great Detective. "I cannot say that exceeding peace has made me bold, but I have lived long and experienced much. It may be that the last of my life, if indeed it is for which the first was made, may hold some surprises."
He walked into the Great Hall, and stopped in his tracks: in the middle of the room, which had been cleared of tables and furniture, Severus Snape was instructing a Seventh Year prefect in the use of the quarterstaff. The Potions Master moved with silken grace, his tall, lean frame agile and powerful. The heavy quarterstaff whirled and shifted in his hands; clack-clack-clack-clackety-clack, as he duelled with the young man.
Amazing, thought Holmes. I would hardly have thought him recovered enough to fight, but he is in fine fettle. Holmes recalled that Snape was not yet forty years old, barely entering his prime if what he had heard about Wizarding life-spans was true. The Wizard was in love with his brilliant intern, Miss Granger, who was slightly less than half his age and more than his equal in intelligence, wit and passionate dedication to what she believed. Like Russell.
Somehow, Holmes could envision Snape and Miss Granger as a couple. There would be periodic fireworks, no doubt. Still, he loves her dearly, and she will no longer be his student before long. Why, he pondered, could he see their alliance, and yet see none of his own with Russell? Could it be because he had absolutely no knowledge of how she felt about him? He walked slowly over to the staircases. He was lying to himself; he often envisioned himself and Russell as a married couple. Mostly, he thought of her when he lay himself down to sleep. He did not have the courage to exercise his fantasy when he was actually in her presence. "What a coward you are, Holmes," he chided himself.
"Holmes!" He stopped and turned to see the Potions Master hastening after him. "Where have you been? You should learn to handle a quarterstaff, man; that may be all you have with which to defend your life!"
Holmes looked sourly at the Wizard. "I have studied several Eastern disciplines of self-defence, and I assure you, Snape, I am more than equal to any non-magickal attacks that may come my way."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You don't say! And this, erm, "study" equips you to fight?"
"Indeed. Come at me." Holmes stood, relaxed, his weight on one leg, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tipped to one side, and a most irritating smirk on his countenance.
"I've been longing to do this since I met you!" Snape charged at the detective, fury in his face and his fists balled up, and shortly found himself knocked out of his wind, flat on his back with Holmes' booted foot on his neck.
"What – what- " Holmes assisted Snape to his feet, and the Potions Master peevishly shook off his hands. "That was a lucky guess, Holmes." As soon as he stood upright, he pivoted and dove at Homes' throat with both hands out, only to have the Great Detective step smartly out of his way. Snape made an inelegant three point landing and slid across the polished floor on his belly, fetching up in front of the staid black oxfords and red and white striped stockings of Minerva McGonagall. Holmes recalled that his first introduction to Snape had been in the same undignified position.
McGonagall shrieked and held up her skirts, stepping back. "Severus! Get up from that floor this moment!"
Mortified, Snape rose and dusted off the front of his robes. "Minerva, I –"
"Oh, get along with you; you act like two rutting stags!" The Witch looked sharply at both men. "It is more important for you to work together than to continue this contest of wills you both seem to enjoy." She clapped her pointed hat on her head, turned her back on man and Wizard, and trotted off, a small black and grey striped tabby, her tail held high in disdain.